


Your Secret's Out (I Know This Hurts/It Was Meant To)

by Pseudthisyafucks (collettephinz)



Series: Yo Ho, Yo Ho, I've Made a Fucking Mistake [3]
Category: Youtube - RPF
Genre: M/M, Multiple Pov, Pirate AU, Pirate typical violence, Pre-Slash, Rescue Mission, anti-slave pirates, because why the fuck not, felix is a badass, felix is in love and jack is clueless, i just did my own thing idk, i'm in over my head again, jack is also a badass, secret assassin colonies, shit ton of lore, somewhat accurate medical information
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/Pseudthisyafucks
Summary: Robin and Jack are captured by an opposing and spited Pirate crew that wants nothing more than to avoid the Mad Captain's long hand over the seas. Maybe it's stupid, but Felix has never believed in leaving a man behind, even at the cost of his own sanity.





	Your Secret's Out (I Know This Hurts/It Was Meant To)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writeasoph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeasoph/gifts).



> whaaaaaaat a fucking pirate AU why would i do this to myself _why would i do this to myself do you know how much lore i've written for this one stupid thing fuck me_
> 
> also i'm gonna add stuff and it'll be out of order but i'll correct it in the series order sorry

Felix turned the blade over in his hands, taking in the weight and the gentle leather wrapped around the hilt. He’d sharpened the blade many times over, but there were no scratches along the sleek, clean metal, no stains leftover from old actions, no rust soiling the cleanliness. He’d had this weapon since he was a child, as it was the first weapon he’d ever been given. Some would say that he’d been born with the blade in his tiny little grip. If only they knew how true their speculations were. After all, the man who had pulled him into the world had been slaughtered for the blade itself. 

The blade was a work of art and from a country far, far away from where Felix was now. It had been made with skillful hands, beautiful engravings etched into the thick side of the blade, and initials carved into the bottom of the hilt. The hilt of the blade was rumored to be made of human bone. The hilt was also actually made of human bone. Felix never saw a need in affirming the rumors— gossiping was just as effective as the truth, at times. 

The leather of the handle was made from the hide of a boar, worn and soft to the touch from nearly three decades of use. This knife was special to Felix— he never used it for anything. He didn’t use it for death, for battle, not even for picking his teeth after a meal. He hadn’t used this blade since he was seventeen years old and he hadn’t intended on using it ever again. He kept it as a reminder to himself of what he was and what he wasn’t going to be ever again. He hadn’t even pulled the blade from its scabbard until today.

“Felix! Are you listening to me?”

Felix looked up from where he sat in the captain’s quarters, and met his captain’s firm gaze with a rigidness of his own. He hadn’t been listening. He knew what Ken was going to say. As the captain’s first mate, it was his personal interest in knowing his captain’s thoughts before his captain himself. He had no reason to listen, and this conversation was no exception.

Ken sighed and ran his hands over his face, weary. Their battle had ended a mere hours ago, and they should’ve been making back for the nearest friendly port, but Felix had steadfastly argued against them leaving this island for a very, very specific reason. And his poor captain had always been bad at saying no to Felix.

“You know I can’t save them,” Ken said. “I simply can’t afford to risk the rest of our men.”

Felix continued to watch him with the same severity.

Ken sighed again. “You know that,” he insisted

Felix kept staring.

“You’re going to go after them yourself.”

Felix turned the blade carefully over in his hand. He continued to stare and didn’t say a word.

“They’re more than likely already dead, Felix.”

“You know I’ll be able to get them back if they’re not.”

Ken groaned and leaned back against the desk behind him, the one cluttered with bloody bandages and the map they’d followed into this trap. Ken was one of the most notorious pirates in the ocean, simply for the fact that he had a bad habit of stealing specific cargo without prejudice. Call them old fashioned, but people weren’t for sale. Ken and his crew had made more than a few enemies with their “moral rigidity.” It was safe to say that whoever they’d fought today had lost quite a bit of money to Ken’s cause in the past. 

“I know you’ll be able to get them back,” Ken said. “I’m just worried you won’t come back.”

Felix scoffed. “Like they can kill—”

“I mean I’m worried you’ll come back as someone else.”

Felix stared again.

“You know I’m right. You know as well as I do that you’re risking a lot more than just your life. You ran away from it all for a reason, Felix. I don’t want to see you falling back into who you were when I pulled you from the clutches of that slaver.”

“I would’ve killed whichever laborer they sold me to.”

“You and I both know someone who looks like you would not be sold for labor.”

Felix grimaced and looked down at his blade again. It hadn’t seen the sun since he was seventeen and slicing his father’s throat. “I’m going after them.”

“I know you are. I just want you to realize what you could be risking.”

“And I want you to realize what I’d be losing in leaving them behind.”

Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. “See, this is why I like women like Heaven. Everyone says they’re bad luck on the sea, good luck when it comes to dramatics. Never had to chase after a woman before. Never had to rescue one. Never even had to worry about one running off.”

“Because you’re just so good with women that you can only ever get the one.” Felix finally cracked the barest of grins and stood. “I’ll be back before sunrise.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Ken eyed the blade. He was the only person that understood the significance of it, considering he’d been the one to pull it from Felix’s cold, shaking hands, telling him everything would be okay. “I’ll be ready to set sail immediately. I expect you to be sprinting when you approach this ship again for making me wait.”

“You’ll keep the rest of men safe?”

Ken waved him off. “Just because you’re their favorite doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be their leader. Though we’re down our best sharpshooter and his useless guard dog, we’ve got plenty of supplies for their wounds, and the doc is working steadily. Shouldn’t be any problem to set sail upon your return, especially if you do what I believe you intend to.”

“And what is it that you think I intend?”

“I don’t expect our enemies to be a problem ever again.” Ken raised a brow at him, but his eyes were cold. “Am I right to assume so?”

Felix’s hand tightened around the blade. He didn’t answer. His silence said more. Ken bowed his head and gestured to Felix, dismissing him. Felix nodded his head in return, understanding the trust that was being put in him. “I’ll get them back,” he told Ken.

“I know you will.”

. . .

Jack was huddled in the furthest corner of the tiny cell in the bottom of a stolen clipper ship. They’d taken Robin away over an hour ago, and Jack couldn’t hear his voice any longer. A tremble ran through his body, a bone deep shiver that made the bottom of his stomach curl. If he got sick down here, these bastards would let him die. 

His side hurt, but not as badly as his head. He’d been knocked in the skull with the back of a pistol while trying to cover Robin. That was the only way these amateurs would have been able to bring him in. He should’ve seen them coming, but Robin had been adamant that there was some extra log that they needed to steal for whatever fucking reason. Jack had always suspected that his loyalty to his best friend would get him killed one day. Today appeared to be that day— today, or tomorrow.

He pulled his legs closer to his chest and shut his eyes. Another shiver tore through him. He hoped he wasn’t bleeding anywhere, as he couldn’t check. The shackles around his ankles and wrists kept him from moving at all, let alone inspect his body for any injuries. They’ve could’ve pierced his lungs through his back. Numbed him with the cold water of the cell. Let him bleed out slowly, unaware of his limited time. 

He didn’t want to admit defeat, but defeat was all he could see. Jack let his eyes fall shut. He shuddered again. He couldn’t keep heat. His heartbeat felt too slow. He hadn’t heard Robin up above deck in ages and he was terrified that he’d failed in his singular purpose, failed in keeping Robin safe. There was nothing left for him to stay conscious for. Rescue would not come; a crew of twenty ten-years-loyal men was not worth the lives of two crew-mates that had been mere stowaways only two years ago. The captain would not send for them and Jack understood it completely. He just wished he could see the first mate Felix one last time and give him his thanks for everything Felix had done for Jack and Robin. 

The cold reached beyond his limbs, encroaching in on his chest. He was probably going to die soon. He’d definitely been stabbed in the back. He was sure that if he managed to cram his neck and look down, he’d see the water surrounding him muddled with blood. 

There was a clatter overhead, a shout of panic, a gunshot, but Jack couldn’t manage it any longer. His eyes slid shut and he sank into the nothingness of near death.

. . .

Robin had his forehead against the main mast with a pistol pressed into the back of his skull. He didn’t want to say he was crying, and he definitely hadn’t begged for his life, but he had wanted to beg so badly, just on the off chance that his life would be spared. The bastard captain had interrogated Robin to the best of his ability, but Robin had thick skin to make up for his cowardice. He was terrified of the dark, but he could withstand the hottest of iron against his flesh, proof by the new burns lining his neck. 

And yet. The thickest of skin still wanted to live. 

But he wouldn’t beg. His captain wouldn’t want him to, and Robin owed the captain everything, the captain and Felix. He couldn’t let them down— not after the opportunity they’d given him and Jack. Even if it had lasted so shortly, he wouldn’t insult their risk with his cowardice. 

“I’ve told you,” the stupid captain growled, pressing the barrel harder into the back of Robin’s head. “Tell me the next port they’re lookin’ to hit, and I’ll make sure you and your friend end up safely on the next island. Just tell me where to avoid with my next shipment, and I’ll let you go.”

Robin kept his jaw set and his hands from shaking. He could imagine what it would feel like to get shot in the head. He could imagine that it would barely feel like anything at all. “I’m telling you nothing,” he ground out, keeping his head braced against the main mast. Jack was just below him. He would be proud to know that Robin was refusing to give in. He almost wished Jack could be up deck with him, if only for his face to be that last shot of courage Robin would need to stare down death with his head held high. He’d have to do well with knowing that Jack wouldn’t have to live with the memory of Robin’s death.

If anything, Jack would be kept alive. Once this bastard crew connected Jack’s face with the wanter posters plastered around in nearly every royal port, they’d know who Jack was. His sharpshooting abilities were infamous. He’d be an asset to any crew.

“You’ve one last chance,” this stupid fuck of a captain warned. The enemy crew around laughed, like they found this whole thing just so hilarious. As if they could. Robin’s crew had done a number on these evil men, taking out half of the numbers. Robin wasn’t even sure who they were. The Royal Seas? Royal Saints? Robin didn’t know for certain, he just knew he hated them. Even with his dying breath, he would spit his hatred for these men. He clenched his jaw.

“I swore my loyalty to the Mad Captain Morrison and his Fidel, and to him, my loyalty will lie. I will tell you nothing.”

There was more barking laughter, the sound ringing with the confidence of defeated men. There was a click when the hammer of the pistol was pulled back. “So be it.”

There was a gunshot. 

Robin wasn’t dead.

Instead, a body hit the deck just behind him, heavy and lifeless.

“Cap’n!’ came a cry, the panicked scream of a man that was suddenly fearful for his life. Robin felt a thrill of pleasure run through him at the sound. Let these bastards know what it felt like to be him. Another gunshot, another body hit the ground. 

“It’s the—”

This other man was cut short with a horrible sound, like his vocal cords had been slit before he could finish a sentence. There was a panicked scramble of feet behind him as the crew rushed for weapons or something alike. Robin could hear body after body hit the floor, seven in total. Then there was eerie silence before footsteps came up to where he was tied to the mast. Hands undid the knots around his raw wrists. He turned, almost afraid to see what kind of angel the sea had sent him in the form of a savior.

Robin’s eyes went wide in shock as he looked up at the first mate— at Felix. The man who had pulled him and Jack from between the crates of cargo aboard the Anger of Disgrace, who had pleaded with the Mad Captain to spare their lives, and who had dug a knick into the Fidel crew for Robin and Jack to make home. Felix had saved Robin’s life two years ago. And here he stood, drenched in blood, the wrath of a god churning in his blue eyes, saving Robin’s life once again. 

“Felix,” he breathed, letting all the reverence he felt in his heart wash through in his voice. “How did you—”

Felix pulled Robin roughly to his feet, giving him no time to finish his sentence. Felix’s eyes were sharp, trained on the burns on Robin’s neck. Robin was sure they were ugly to look at— the skin had been torn off, peeling away with the iron that had marred his flesh. Robin knew it would be an ugly scar, now that he knew he would survive this ordeal. Robin looked past Felix to the deck. 

The dead were a gruesome sight. Throats slit open, head smashed to bits. One man had his hands inside his own stomach, tangled in the organs like he’d been trying to push his guts back into his body, where they belonged. Robin hadn’t seen anything like this. Not at the hands of one man, and especially not at the hands of gentle Felix, the steadfast first mate. Then Robin’s eyes trailed down to Felix’s waist, to the belt that always held the scabbard of a blade that was never drawn. The scabbard was empty, and the blade rested comfortably in Felix’s free hand. And now that Robin could see the blade, he could also see the familiar, bone-chilling insignia of the Asmund Assassins carved delicately into the metal. 

Robin’s eyes went wide with what he’d just learned and took steps away from the first mate. He was suddenly very afraid of the man in front of him. It was funny that the blade was more of a nail in the coffin than the corpses just behind. “You’re one of—”

“Where’s Jack?”

Robin met Felix’s eyes with trepidation. “What do you intend to do with him?” Having met Felix’s eyes, Robin could then see the hurt that swam through them. But Jack was Robin’s lifelong companion, his brother. Felix wasn’t the man Robin thought him to be. He couldn’t risk Jack’s safety, even as instinct insisted that Felix could still be trusted, that the symbol of the devil didn’t necessarily make Felix a demon. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Felix said, remaining steadfast in his mission. “We need to get you and Jack back to the Disgrace. The captain is waiting for us. Where is Jack?”

“There are still men below deck,” Robin replied. 

“Look around you,” Felix said, still somehow exuding the utmost patience. Robin had always admired that about him. Now he only saw it as a secret he’d overlooked. Only a killer could look so calm when covered in blood. But the oddest thing was how good Felix looked in red. “Any men left standing will not be a problem. Tell me. Where is Jack.”

“Below deck.”

Felix pulled away from Robin and disappeared below. Robin realized that he hadn’t even hear Felix move. 

. . .

Jack swam back into consciousness just in time to see the man guarding the cell be run through with a blade in the hands of the first mate. 

Felix was formidable in his inscrutability. Jack had never been able to get a good read on him, and that was what always made it so hard for Jack to really warm up to him, regardless of what he’d done, but by god, had Jack always respected him. The way Felix listened and spoke for the men to the captain, the way he treated the would-be slaves they rescued— how Felix always insisted on stocking the ship with more food to accommodate anyone they picked up. Felix was a good man and a better human being. Jack had never seen him hurt anyone out of necessity. 

Now Felix had a blade with the hilt of human bone buried deep in a man’s stomach with serenity in his eyes. Jack had never seen anyone who looked like they would be adept at killing above all else until now. 

The cold pervaded as Jack listened to the man choke on his own blood. The bastard pirate was going to die slowly at Felix’s hands. Jack’s consciousness lasted just long enough for Felix to turn to him and see him, really see him. The second their eyes met was the second Felix’s humanity returned, and his expression washed over with a churning mix of relief and panic. 

“Jack!” was the distant cry he heard over the dying man before he fell away again, into darkness. At least he wasn’t dead yet himself.

. . .

Ken surveyed the beach in front of him. The sun rose at his back, a ticking clock, a horrible reminder of the promise he’d made. He’d told Felix he had until sunrise. The rest of the crew was tired and broken from the ambush of yesterday, disheartened by the loss of Robin and Jack. Everyone missed their families and the comfort of their temporary homes, but Ken knew that they wouldn’t leave without their beloved first mate. The loss of Jack and Robin would be nothing compared to losing Felix. 

“We don’t have much fresh water left,” the good doctor told him from where he was watching the beach beside Ken. Mark was a practical man above all else. Even though he respected Felix just as much as anyone else on the crew, he would be one of the few to insist they return to a port as quickly as possible, if only for the longevity of their injured. “If we do not reach somewhere tonight, I fear we may lose men to the fever.” Mark paused. “You gave him until sunrise. He knows what it means to not be here in time. For all we may know, he is dead.”

Ken almost laughed. It would’ve given away far too much if he had. “Felix is fine. It’s the other two I worry for. Depending on how he finds them, he may return a different person. I don’t want the men to see the change.”

“You seem confident that Felix will somehow be able to take down half a pirate crew on his own.”

“I seem confident because I am confident.”

Mark stared at him for a long time, like he was trying to scrutinize him. Ken kept his expression steady. Just as Felix’s loyalty lied with him, Ken returned the same. He wasn’t about to betray Felix’s trust by giving away any of his secret. Ken smiled easily once he let Mark have his fill. “I have faith in my men, Doctor, and my faith should be faith enough for you.”

“Are you sure?” Mark asked cooly. “You are the Mad Captain of the Nine Seas, after all. Maybe your madness extends into your faith.”

Ken wanted to chide Mark for being such a realist when a shout came from down the crows nest. Ken looked to where the his lookout was pointing and saw two figures coming towards the ship, backlit by the rising sun. One of the figures had something large slumped over their back. The unburdened figure began to run towards the ship, shouting and waving his arms wildly. 

“We need the doctor!” Robin shouted. Ken’s gaze swept over his once-missing crew member, relieved to find no bleeding wounds. But then he looked beyond Robin, to the other figure. It was Felix, drowned in red, carrying an unresponsive Jack. 

Ken clapped Mark on the shoulder to spur him into action. “Get a cot ready,” he told the doctor. “My mad faith must last us a little longer.”

. . .

Mark had helped pull many a man from the cold depths of Davy Jones’ Locker in his lifetime. He’d spent his entire life saving lives ever since failing to save the one life that had mattered— his mother’s life, who had bled out in his arms, murdered by a man with a blade that had the symbol of the devil’s land carved into the metal. Ever since he’d lost her, he’d spent his life making sure to never lose anyone ever again. And so far, he hadn’t. Had never even come close.

For as long as Mark had known Jack, though, he’d known the man to be incredibly stubborn and contradicting. And now, it seemed that Jack would continue his infuriating habit and stubbornly insist on dying. 

The bastard crew had been cruel and precise in their method, stabbing Jack in the back with a sharp enough blade to make the wound painless in the face of numbing waters. Jack had been bleeding out slowly over many hours, it seemed, and Mark was unsure if he had closed the wound in time to keep the man alive. Captain Morrison had set sail after getting the last of his crew onboard, intending on getting them back to port where they’d have access to the more vital medical supplies, but Mark wasn’t sure if they would reach port soon enough. And he had other men to tend to. So Mark had closed the wound, lied Jack out on his stomach to keep whatever blood was left in his body, and gone to care for the rest of the injured.

He wasn’t surprised, when he came back to check on Jack a few hours later, to find first mate Felix standing vigilant at Jack’s bedside. And that lack of surprise had nothing to do with the unfailing concern Felix had for every member of the crew. No, this lack of surprise came from an observation Mark had made only recently. 

When Felix had carried Jack back onboard, it had taken three able-bodied men to pull Felix away from the medical bay and allow Mark room to work. Three men and gentle words from Captain Morrison in a foreign language that Mark was sure came from the far north of the world. How Captain Morrison knew the language, and why it was the only thing that got through Felix, was beyond Mark. What hadn’t been beyond him was the harrowed look in Felix’s eyes that overcame him every time he looked in Jack’s direction. What hadn’t been beyond Mark was how Felix had turned to him and literally begged him to save the sharpshooter. What hadn’t been beyond Mark was the desperation in Felix’s expression that he’d only ever seen in the expressions of the lovers of people he had saved. 

Mark didn’t know if Jack knew, but whatever dedication Felix felt for Jack was far beyond what he felt for the rest of the crew. Mark hadn’t been there when Felix had found Robin and Jack stowed away below deck, but he’d been there for Felix’s fervent arguments in the strange boys’ favor. From the very beginning, Felix had been abnormally attached to these two. Only now was Mark beginning to think that Felix was actually abnormally attached to only one of them. 

Felix had washed all the blood from his body and changed his clothes, so that was a good thing. Mark had gotten in his face about sterile environments and keeping infection and disease from Jack’s body as well as he could. Mark looked a little closer at the first mate and realized the man was wearing entirely new clothes— completely clean, never worn before, probably previously being saved for a special occasion that hardly took precedence over Jack’s life in Felix’s eyes. Mark distantly wondered if Jack knew that he had somehow been the single, pure soul to actually capture the first mate’s undying attention. Anyone that could come above the Mad Captain in Felix’s eye had to be some sort of special creature.

“He’ll be fine.”

Felix visibly startled when Mark spoke, but Mark didn’t feel a need to apologize. Felix looked like he would be on edge for a kitten. The way he instinctively stepped in front of Jack’s cot, likely to protect him, was not missed. 

“We’ll have the antibiotics we need by tomorrow,” Mark continued. “Sanitation isn’t an issue, as I always keep this room in tip-top shape. His wounds are clean. They’ve all been taken care of. He lost a lot of blood, but no major arteries were severed. No vital organs.” Mark looked to Felix again. “He’ll be fine.”

Felix swallowed hard. “Do you promise?”

Mark nodded.

“Good.” Felix nodded back. “Then I have to get up deck. Keep the men in line. You will tell me if he gets worse, yes? You’ll get me immediately.” 

“Absolutely.”

Felix grimaced, gave Mark a final nod— of gratitude?— and left the infirmary. Mark watched the door fall shut behind the first mate and wondered, for what felt like the millionth time, what the man was hiding. 

He didn’t have time for mysteries, though. Mark checked Jack’s temperature again before tending to the rest of the injured. He had a long night ahead of him.

. . .

Robin had a dilemma. He couldn’t consolidate the man he now knew the first mate to be with the man he saw stand vigilance over Jack’s bedside. Everything he knew of the Asmund Assassins spoke of death, pain, fear, and torture. They were famous for the bodies they left behind and those mourning in their wake. They were a clan of demonic men and women led by a hierarchy of a family ordained by the devil himself, or so the stories said. The Kjellbergs were the centuries-long rulers of the Asmunds, and the people of Asmund were the most ruthless creatures in the world. They’d felled lands. Destroyed religions. Decimated entire empires with deadly efficiency. 

And Felix was one of them. 

Robin wondered if their captain was aware of the bloodstained history of his beloved first mate. He couldn’t imagine anyone every trusting Felix if they did. Felix had to be a spy. A sleeper agent. He was targeting someone and working his way into that persons trust with years of unfailing dedication to their craft that the Asmunds were famous for. Was Felix meant to kill Captain Morrison? 

But what Robin now knew of Felix just didn’t make sense, not anymore. Not when Robin went to the infirmary to find Felix guarding Jack’s bedside, looking worse for wear than most of the injured men, like a beaten guard dog that stubbornly held to its singular purpose. Many a man would show such loyalty to anyone, but not an Asmund. Even the Asmunds were accustom to slitting the throats of their brethren. The only Asmund that was protected from the blade of another was of the Kjellberg family, and neither Jack nor Felix were a Kjellberg, so why would Felix be showing such compassion? Robin couldn’t make sense of it. 

Robin had been given the rare opportunity of receiving a stellar education while being primed to be royal consort. He’d learned to read and write and how to use mathematics and astronomy. He knew botany and biology and could almost cook as well as Chef Bob aboard. He had studied for five years while captive and he held that knowledge to his heart as one of the few silver linings he could have. 

And in learning, he’s studied the crown’s enemies extensively. He’d learned that there was no greater threat to any nation in this world as the Asmund Assassins. They were chaotically neutral ground. Mercenaries at times, political radicals at others. They had no true affiliations or allies or even order. They acted on the whimsy of the Kjellbergs and conquered countries like it was child’s play before abandoning the people they’d taken when they inevitably grow bored of the new responsibilities. 

Robin learned of their familial piety and royal hierarchy, the flux between monarchy and patriarchy. He’d learned of their rumored training regiments and the conditioning required. No one was taken into asylum, no one ever joined the Asmunds outside of blood. The only Asmund was one born into the lines. All of them looked the same. Blond hair, blue eyes, striking beauty. They were related to myths of Sirens— beautiful to lure in their prey and destroy without prejudice. 

Robin remembered being afraid of the monsters depicted in the books he’d read. Especially when he’d learned the Asmunds were fond of random attacks on other royal families simply to “stir the pot” and “make the world an interesting place again.” The current queen had already felled a kingdom of the seventh sea. He was scared of the insignia he’d seen on the page— the insignia he’d seen on the end of Felix’s knife. 

Every bone in his body was telling Robin to report Felix to the closest royal guard he could find and get the crew a safe distance away from the monster that was disguised as their attentive first mate. Every lesson he’d been taught told him the only way to survive an Asmund was to run from him or her. Robin had watched Felix slay half a crew of men without flinching, had seen the way Felix had bathed in the blood on instinct. The Asmunds taught that it was honorable to be drenched in the blood of their victims, like carrying the deaths on their bodies like trophies. Felix had slit one man’s throat, and Robin had clearly seen Felix shut his eyes and breathe easily as he stood there and let the blood spray out across his own face. He’d looked at peace in that moment. Felix was an actual monster.

A monster that wouldn’t leave Jack alone for more than a minute necessary as Jack fought a fever from the infection of his wound. Jack had been in the cold water for too long, and no antibiotic had been capable of fighting off the damage. Jack had been under from fever for three days now and Robin had never see the first mate so frantic. Neither had the rest of the crew. They were giving Felix fewer responsibilities and kind words of encouragement. Robin couldn’t understand why.

“We can all tell,” Bob was saying as he flayed the skin from a fish that had been freshly caught. Bob was one of the people onboard Robin enjoyed being around the most, and it was the same for Jack. They both loved the dry humor and straightforward words of the cook who insisted on being called a Chef. Apparently he studied under some famous Chef only to end up on The Anger of Disgrace after a loss he refused to tell anyone of 

“You can tell what?” Robin asked as he helped Bob prep for the crew’s small dinner tonight. They were still at harbor, so most of the men would be dining in the town, but a few (mainly Felix, Doc, and Captain Morrison) were staying on board, and Bob always held himself responsible for cooking for anyone on the ship, at any time. Robin loved cooking, too, so he often helped. It was just another way to make himself useful. 

“We can all tell that the first mate has a little something more for that reckless friend of yours.”

“His name’s Jack.”

“I know that, but what he did to end up where he is was reckless, so I’ll refer to him as such.” Bob sent him a small grin. “You kids and your loyalties. The log was appreciated, and we will be freeing many more people, thanks to you both, but do I wish the two of you thought up better plans before rushing aboard an enemy ship like you did.”

Robin shrugged, unable to defend himself beyond, “people out there need our help. If we can give it, we should.”

“And that makes the both of you reckless.”

“What do you mean Felix has something more for Jack?”

Bob snorted an incredulous laugh. “Like you haven’t noticed. The man can’t leave his side, and yes, that may be due to injury, but he could hardly leave your boy alone when he was well either. Ever since he pulled you from the hold and demanded I feed the two of you, he’s been keeping an eye on Jack like one would be unable to keep from looking at a work of art.”

Robin bristled under the connotation. “You think he’s in love?”

Bob sputtered, nearly knocking over the bowl of vegetables he’d been bringing to the fire to roast. “Love, love is a strong word, kid. I don’t know if I’d go that far. Possessive, maybe.”

“That’s even worse.”

“Ah, you know what I mean. Felix can’t see any person as an object, but he does see Jack as something to protect. More like the idea of treasure than the actual gold itself. Something to keep safe. Something to guard.”

“I don’t want him touching Jack,” Robin said firmly. The insignia was burning a hole in his mind. If Felix was really an Asmund— and did he fucking look the part, now that Robin gave it a thought— then he could only imagine the unspeakable things he could want to do to Jack. Robin had read of how the Asmunds took lovers that weren’t of their own lands. The way they’d chain people, put iron collars around their throats, keep them on all fours and crawling behind them like dogs. Robin would never let that happen.

Bob looked a little sad at Robin’s words, but he didn’t know any better. “Well, don’t let me be a preacher or anything, as I’m sure god abandoned us long ago to our sins, but I don’t think you’re saying that out of regular jealousy of a friend.”

Robin took in a deep breath and said, “you don’t know who Felix is. Not really.”

“I’ve sailed with that man for nearly a decade, you for barely two years. I think I know him better than you. He would never hurt your boy. Hell, most of us are amazed he got the two of you back from the Royals. Felix always was one to act squeamish around blood.”

Robin shook his head vehemently again. “You don’t know Felix.” He finished the last of the carrots and pushed them into the put Bob now had boiling. “I’m going to check on Jack,” he told Bob, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. “Thank you for letting me help.”

Bob waved him off. “Should make you a cook for the crew, too. God knows you’re down here with me enough.”

Robin only nodded his added gratitude and left with a stony expression. He’d left Jack alone for too long. Felix couldn’t be trusted around anyone.

. . .

Jack woke up with the distinct feeling of knowing what it was like to be a corpse. His mouth tasted like a dead pig and every inch of his body was disgusting and clammy, like he’d been bathed in sludge. He could barely move, groaning loudly in discomfort and annoyance with how stupid it was to be laid up like this and not even be aware where he was.

There was a flurry of movement beside him, the rush of feet just barely audible over the roaring heartbeat in his ears. Jack flinched when something cold touched the side of his face and lashed out weakly, a distant memory of cold water lapping lazily around his body keeping him from relaxing. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” came a soothing voice. “You’re safe, just let me—”

The voice cut off and more cold touched Jack’s skin, but he didn’t fight it. The voice sounded pretty confident that everything was actually okay, and Jack knew that whoever was talking was someone familiar and trustworthy, even if he couldn’t actually recall their name. He couldn’t recall much of anything. 

The cold something slowly began to register in Jack’s brain as a cloth soaked in icy water. It pressed gently to all sides of Jack’s face, dabbed most carefully across his forehead. Whoever was doing this had the same loving touch of his mother and Jack’s throat suddenly constricted at the memory. His chest spasmed as he tried to hold in a sudden sob, but it didn’t work. A noise of anguish slipped past his lips. “Fuck, fuck, wait, don’t cry, why are you crying?” The voice sounded frantic and masculine, so definitely not the mother Jack wished it was. “It, it’s okay, Jack, I swear, everything’s okay.” His mother had never known him as Jack. Would she be proud of who he’d become? Would she be at peace with the atrocities Jack had committed that forced him to leave behind his old name simply for the safety of those around him? Would she still love him? 

Jack was crying harder now, his body jerking with the force of the sobs. The cold cloth left and hands ended up on Jack’s shoulder, like they were trying to steady him. He finally managed to open his eyes, but he couldn’t see past the tears blurring his vision. Jack knew he could trust the voice, though, so he reached up and out, weakly taking hold of whoever this was, and tried to pull them down. The tiny child that was still standing alone on a beach with his home burning behind him needed a hug. 

The hands on his shoulders became arms around his torso. Jack pressed up into the warmth and cried into the crook of this person’s neck, chin to collarbone, nose underneath the jaw. His entire body was shaking and he felt like he could pass out for how little air he was getting, but at least he didn’t feel like he was alone. 

“I miss my mother,” he choked out. “I-I miss her so much.”

The body he was holding onto stiffened, but nothing else was said. Jack cried for a long time, until eventually his arms couldn’t hold on to the other person and his body was too weak to maintain the energy needed to mourn someone he’d lost years ago. Jack fell back onto the bed— which was surprisingly comfy and definitely not his hammock— and shuddered through the last sob. 

“Are, are you…” The voice trailed off. “I am really bad with crying people.”

“Where am I?”

“The, the infirmary. What do you remember?”

Jack couldn’t answer for a moment. His jaw was inexplicably tired. It was odd, because he’d never really been aware of his jaw before. 

“I’ll get the doctor.”

“Doc Mark?” Recognition stirred and Jack groaned, trying to sit up. “Wait, wait, where am I?”

“The Anger of Disgrace, Jack, now are you going to be okay while I grab the doctor? Because I’m concerned you have, uhm, what, uh.” There was a pause. “Fuck, I don’t know the word in English. Memory loss?”

“Amnesia,” Jack supplied helpfully, inwardly amazed that he knew the word himself. But who did he know that wouldn’t know English well enough? “Do I have amnesia?”

“I have no idea, that’s why I need to get the doctor.”

Jack blearily opened his eyes again and squinted at the blurry figure. “Who are…” 

“Be right back.”

The person left, and Jack dropped back onto the bed with a heavy exhale of breath. Everything felt fuzzier the more he became aware. His mind was muddled with countless thoughts and the distant sound of his other singing him to sleep, years ago. He felt weakly at his own face, at the heat under his skin. The touch of that cold cloth barely felt real now. He wondered if he’d imagined the voice telling him it would be okay just as he’d imagined his mother. 

“You’re awake,” came a deep voice a few moments later. 

“Am I?”

“But not lucid. Fair enough.” There was a quiet bustle of movement, like someone was tiptoeing around him. “You barely survived the fever. I wish I’d been able to reach you sooner. We nearly lost you to the infection, but since you’re awake now, I’m confident you’ll pull through.”

Jack opened his eyes again and lifting his head up. He stared at this new figure for a long time. “… Doc?”

A deep chuckle. “That’s me.”

“Holy shit… Did I have a ghost in here with me?”

There was a pause. “Maybe so.”

Jack lied down. “Where… Where’s Robin?”

“On his way, I am sure, once he learns of you being awake.”

“What happened?” He had no idea how he’d ended up in this strange, comfortable bed, or under the care of the doctor. But if he were with Doc, then he had to be sick or injured. More than likely sick, except there was a slow ache from his back that was starting to push away the fog. Had he been hurt?

“We were ambushed by a spiteful group of pirates we’d wronged in the past,” Doc explained in that calm, soothing tone he was famous for among the men. The crew would often say that Mark could push away the fear of death with his voice alone. Surely, if god did exist, he sounded like Doc. “In the clamor of battle, Robin apparently overheard something about a log containing the shipping schedules of fresh slaves from the new lands. He and you went to find the log. You got yourself stabbed, the both of you captured. The first mate got you back.”

Jack frowned. “First mate… first mate…”

There was another pause, and then fingers were forcing Jack’s eye wide open. Jack flailed as he got a clear, full view of Doc above him. “I was told you were experiencing memory issues, though I see no sign of head trauma, so I suppose it’s just part of the lingering fever. Still. Do you feel well enough to eat? You’ve only had water the past five days.”

“Fucking hell, five?” Jack tried to roll over, but the ache became a sharp stab of pain. He gasped, but was grateful. The pain was clearing his mind. “Who was in here?” he asked. “Where’s Robin?”

“He’ll be here, I’m sure, but I need you to lie down.”

“Was my mother here?”

A third pause, this one longer and much more tense. Jack thought over what he’d just asked and cursed himself. “Never mind,” he said, bitter. “She, she wasn’t. Fever.” He waved his hand uselessly in the air. “Blame it on the fever. And I— I’m tired.”

“Get some rest, Jack. We’ll get some food in you when you wake up again.”

Jack nodded, suddenly grateful for the idea of sleep. He felt like he’d done something extraneous and exhausting, but couldn’t remember what. He remembered cold and his mother singing, but that couldn’t be possible. Jack sank back into oblivion with a memory of a gentle touch and the curve of a jaw against his face.

. . .

Ken looked at the knife that was being held out to him, at the Asmund insignia at the beginning of the blade. He didn’t want to take the knife, and not just because the symbol was enough to fill his gut with dread. He lifted his eyes from weapon to the person holding it out for him to take— to his first mate. 

“I can’t have it anymore,” Felix told him, his voice tight. “I can’t.”

“So you give it to me?”

“After what Robin saw— if Jack finds out— If the men—”

“Felix, you’re paranoid of the wrong things.”

“Robin saw me like that, he knows. He saw the blade.”

“And yet he hasn’t told anyone. It’s been five days, I think he’ll keep it secret.”

Felix looked away, and Ken hated the tortured expression on his face. Felix had given up a lot of his sanity in going after Robin and Jack, and had risked more than his life by falling back into who he used to be. But Felix had thought Jack and Robin worth the sacrifice. He didn’t deserve to be so broken up over. 

“We can trust Robin,” Ken sighed. “You know that. You must know that by now. You’ve saved his life twice, surely he knows he is indebted to you.”

“I would never hold someone’s life over them like a debt.”

“True, but he may feel some sort of extenuating loyalty.”

“He feels nothing. You didn’t see how he looked at me. How everyone will look at me once they know the truth.” Ken watched a shudder run through Felix’s body. “He knows what I am.”

“What you were,” Ken corrected. “You’re not one of them anymore.”

“I am, Ken, I am, it’s in my blood!”

“Lower your voice.”

Felix dropped to the seat at the head of the desk in Ken’s quarters. He looked exhausted. He’d been spending more time at Jack’s bedside than anywhere else. Ken knew he hadn’t slept in probably days. The exhaustion was likely to blame for this moment of weakness. 

“Keep the blade,” Ken insisted. “And not because I’d rather not be in possession of it, but because it’s yours. You can’t run from who you were. Not forever. You’ve always known that. It’s better to accept that part of you before it consumes you.”

“I’d rather die than accept that demon,” Felix spat.

“I’m sure your people can arrange that. But if you accept the demon, so you call it, you can likely fight them back.”

“My family has nothing to do with this.”

“Your family has to do with everything, Felix. I don’t think you understand how serious this is. How serious your feelings are.”

“My feelings?”

Ken threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Don’t play dumb with me, Felix, everyone can see your infatuation.”

Felix flinched. “Not everyone. Only you.”

“No, _everyone._ And the sooner you accept who you were, the closer you become to finally getting over your cowardice and saying something to the kid.”

“It, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“What I feel for him won’t hurt anyone.”

“Felix, what you feel for him could be the death of us all if you continue to deny your past.”

Felix looked just as frustrated as Ken felt. He also looked remarkably young. “I don’t—”

“For the twelve years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you pull that blade from its sheath,” Ken told him quietly. “You kept it with you, but only like you were punishing yourself in having it. You never used it. Half the time, you couldn’t even look at it. You’d put it around your waist like a man carrying his sins. You hate that blade. You would sooner throw it in the ocean if you could. And yet, the moment Jack was in harm’s way, you used it. You’re willing to give up anything for Jack. And if you continue to deny who you are, yet also continue to use it as a weapon to protect him, you’ll destroy everything. You’ll destroy us.”

Felix’s expression hardened. “The only person I’m hurting is myself.”

“And what happens if you leave one alive?” Ken asked. “On accident or not. What happens when rumors spread of you? They will spread if Jack continues to be an exception to all your rules. What will happen when you people hear you’re alive? What will happen to this crew when they come for you?”

“They’ll kill you.” Felix paled with the realization. “Oh god. I—” Felix looked down at the blade in his hand. “I’m a death sentence.”

“Not if you accept who you were,” Ken reminded him gently. “If you can learn to stomach it again, then we can work with it. You won’t lose yourself to your anger again. You’ll be smart about how you use yourself. And we can tell the crew and—”

“We can’t tell them,” Felix interrupted sharply. “I can’t have them knowing.”

Ken sighed heavily in annoyance. 

“You know I’m right. I’ve spent so long lying to them. To not only reveal a lie, but tell them what I am? It’ll be anarchy. There could be a mutiny when they find out you helped me keep the secret.”

Ken hated how Felix was right. He ran his hands over his face to help himself think clearly. “Fine. We won’t tell them.” Yet. “But I need you to get over yourself and learn to really use that blade again before it gets us all killed. Deal?”

Felix nodded, looking for the world like he wished he deny Ken. “Deal.”

“Good. Now, Doc’s been asking for oranges for Jack. Do you want to bring them to him?”

“I can’t.”

“He had a fever, Felix, he wouldn’t have acted that way otherwise.”

“I know. That’s what makes it so hard.” Felix looked away. “I wish he trusted me in lucidity as well.”

Ken couldn’t help him there. “I’ll have someone else bring the oranges,” he told Felix. “Get some rest since you won’t do it yourself. That’s an order.”

Felix stood and nodded stiffly, leaving Ken’s quarters with silent footsteps, defeated.

. . .

It was another three days before Jack was considered well enough to get out of bed. The ship had left port a day ago, so stepping out of the infirmary into the warm ocean breeze was like a gift from the heavens. Jack stretched his arms high above his head to soak in the sun. They had a straight course for one of the ports that was on the log he and Robin had successfully stolen. They had two more days before they would reach their destination. Most of the men were below deck, enjoying themselves a quiet day of rest. Robin was high above in the crow’s nest, and Sive was at the helm, keeping the ship in the right direction. 

Jack leaned against the railing of the ship and looked out at the beautiful ocean, grateful to be where he was, alive and in a paradise. And he had one person to thank for that. One person who had been avidly avoiding him. One person who just so happened to be inspecting the mast and hadn’t yet noticed Jack was standing just behind him. 

Jack had been told the bare minimum of what had happened by Robin and Captain Morrison. After Jack and Robin had been taken by the Royal crew, Felix had gone after them, alone. Jack had no idea how Felix had managed to take down what was left of the crew entirely on his own, and the hazy memory he had of Felix running a man through just didn’t sit right in his reality. Robin had been very tight lipped about the whole thing, but that didn’t stop Jack from knowing who he had to thank for being alive today. If only Felix hadn’t been so diligent about not letting Jack give him his thanks. Still, he had Felix cornered now. He’d say what he needed to say.

“Ye’ never let me thank ye’.”

Felix practically jumped five feet in the air, and Jack grinned despite himself. He hadn’t meant to startle Felix _that_ badly. “Careful, now,” he warned, watching Felix recover with shielded eyes. “Someone might think I’m tryin’ hurt ye’.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at Jack. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Clean bill of health, for the most part. Needed some sun and air, then food. Doctor’s orders.” Jack gestured to the mast. “I think the blasted thing is in tip-top shape. Why don’t ye’ come sit with me for a bit?”

“I have other things to do.”

“No, ye’ don’t. Captain Morrison told me as much.” 

Felix sighed heavily and glanced around before looking back to Jack. “What do you want?”

“T’ thank ye’,” Jack said. “Robin told me what ye’ did. How you came back for us, fought tooth and nail. Never in me dreams did I think anyone would come rescue us, if only because two men aren’t worth twenty. I’m grateful. I’m wondering what ye’ saw in us to make us worth it.” He smiled a bit, directing it to Felix, wanting him to relax. But Felix hardly knew the meaning of the word and remained tense. “Just never thought ye’d care so much.”

“I care about every man on this ship equally.” For a moment, it almost sounded like Felix was reading a script. Jack frowned and pushed off the railing, stepping closer. But when he took a step forward, Felix took a step back. Jack faltered.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked nervously. “I know what Robin and I did was dangerous, but—”

“You and Robin did the right thing, no matter the cost,” Felix interrupted. “I just.” He grimaced and looked at the boards of the deck. “I didn’t like doing what I did to get you back. And I hate myself for not having come after you sooner. You wouldn’t have gotten sick if I’d been faster.”

“Well that’s just a load of horse shit.”

Felix looked up sharply at Jack’s words. “What?”

“The fact that ye’ came back at all is astounding! I know my worth, and I know Robin’s, but we’re not worth that much. Not in the grand scheme. What you and Captain Morrison do is much bigger than two men, however much ye’ like us. If you think that I’m anything but grateful for how ye’ came at all, you’d be dumber than I thought.” Jack took a step forward again. Felix didn’t step away this time. “I’m proud to be part of this crew. Even more proud to have you above me. What ye’ did was amazing and heroic. You don’t deserve to feel guilty for any of it.”

Felix looked back at the ground again. “You don’t understand…”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Nothing.”

Jack groaned. “I hate that I can’t read you. It’s like you’re a statue.”

The corner of Felix’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Can I thank ye’ now?”

“Go for it.”

Jack stepped closer to Felix and held to Felix’s forearm, making Felix look up and look Jack in the eye. “Thank you,” Jack said sincerely, voice low. “Ye’ve saved my life and the life of Robin twice now. I know how ye’ feel about debts, so I won’t say I owe you anything. But regardless of who you are or how hard ye’ can be sometimes, know that I am loyal to you until the end, above all else.”

Felix’s breath caught. Blue meeting blue felt like the lightning of a storm. Neither man could look away, arrested by the severity of the gaze they shared. For a moment, Jack could actually read Felix like he’d always thought he couldn’t. He was amazing by the complexity of what he saw in Felix’s eyes. Guilt, hope, fear, affection. It all clashed together like the waves.

Then Felix was pulling away, putting another step between them, and clearing his throat. He lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck almost sheepishly. Jack took notice of a white scar across the palm of Felix’s hand for the first time. “I’d do it again,” he said. “I’d save you countless times. As many times as it needs to be done.” He smiled a little. “Go get some food, Jack. Get your strength back.”

Jack nodded, muted by what he’d just felt and seen in Felix. He hesitated only a moment before heading below deck, to Bob’s kitchen for a meal. As Bob bustled around to make him something fittingly nutritious, Jack sat on a barrel of supplies and tried to understand what he’d seen. He supposed Felix was right. Jack didn’t even know the half of it.


End file.
